


Man's Best Friend

by rebelmeg



Series: Earth's Mightiest Heroes... And Their Pets [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers Pets, Awesome Pepper Potts, Dogs, F/M, Fluff, It is part one! Read this before you read the other one!, Pets, Steve Feels, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers-centric, Steve is a dog person, Steve just really needed a buddy, This is not part 2 of the series!, Tony Stark Takes Care of His Friends, sort of therapy dog, tiny tiny teaspoon of angst because Steve's life is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 15:26:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8061712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelmeg/pseuds/rebelmeg
Summary: Steve has sad hobbies.  Everyone knows it.  Pepper thinks that maybe this is a problem that should be addressed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that all of the Avengers living in the Tower was never MCU canon, exactly. But in my little corner of the fandom, there was a time after the Avengers movie that had all of them living there, or at least having suites there for their use. Because the idea of Avengers movie night, and team meals, and bonding opportunities creates a lot of joy in my life. So this little fic is set in that little time period, after Avengers, when they're all still friends.
> 
> If you spot any typos, or sentences that struggle, or grammar problems, please let me know.
> 
> This is the first of the series, (the other part can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11957139)), and if you wanna know what the animals all look like, including Steve's pupper Maurice, look [here!](http://rebelmeg.tumblr.com/post/176214932166/slides-through-dont-mind-me-i-just-finally)

The dog had been Tony’s idea. 

Well, actually, it wasn’t an “idea” at all, just an off-hand comment he had made to Pepper about Steve needing a hobby that didn’t want to make the world cry. (Yes, Natasha had mentioned what Steve said about his barbershop quartet, and everyone knew he still sketched Peggy, Bucky, the Howling Commandos, and what Brooklyn used to look like.) The suggested hobby that Tony mentioned had been a rescue pet (or DJing at a club or knitting or something), said with a little bit of a smirk while he focused on something else. It stuck in Pepper’s head. As good ideas tended to do. And the decision to act on it was an easy one.

It occurred to her that she could step lightly around the situation, nudging things in the direction she wished, until eventually the desired outcome came about. She had great skill at this. But, she was Pepper Potts. Former PA to Tony Stark for over a decade, and now CEO of Stark Industries. These experiences had taught her that this option often took too long, was too exhausting, and she did not have time for that kind of nonsense anymore. Besides, being blunt had many advantages when one was in a relationship with the man behind Iron Man.

So she just flat-out asked Steve, one morning while they went for a run (well, she was running, he was probably jogging at a snail’s pace to humor her), if he would be interested in having a pet.

He had looked at her in such a shock that she had started laughing and he had missed a raised crack in the sidewalk and nearly face-planted it. After they both recovered and got back up to speed again, Pepper was prepared for his hesitations and worries, and was not surprised that it seemed that Steve had given this a great deal of thought. His biggest concern was how often he was gone on mission, and wouldn’t be able to properly care for a dog, er, pet, (blush) like they deserved. Pepper had smiled at all of this, especially the blush. He always did seem like a dog person to her.

A couple weeks later, after some research that went beyond a pipe-dream (Pepper had been unaware that Steve had gone so far as to actually pick out his favorite breeds of dogs), she found herself accompanying Steve to a rescue shelter, with a particular dog in mind that Steve had read about on the shelter’s website.

Maurice was a three year old golden retriever, suspected to have had some training as a service dog, who had been abandoned by his owners and was struggling to thrive in the shelter. He needed a forever home, and someone that would love him.

If Pepper saw any parallels in that situation that related to Steve, she didn’t say anything.

Steve had known there would be a possibility that he wouldn’t be able to bring Maurice home, that his occupation, his _life_ , might prove too unstable for a dog like that. But the woman he talked to that ran the shelter didn’t bat an eyelash at him, even though she had to know who he was. He answered questions, voiced his concerns, filled out paperwork, and was taken into the back to see the dogs. It was much easier than he expected.

He spotted Maurice almost instantly, amongst an array of dogs in all colors and sizes, he found the blond dog sitting away from the rest of them, apart, but not exactly detached. The dog was watching the others with steady brown eyes, and even wagged his tail when he saw the woman with Steve, clearly friendly. But there was a somberness to the canine, something that kept him from being one of the frisking, playing dogs that milled around Steve’s legs or ran the length of the grassy yard.

Steve approached Maurice slowly, petting other dogs as he went, and throwing a few toys that were nudged, soggy and slimy, into his hand. He glanced at the dog occasionally, not keeping eye contact so as not to appear to challenge him, and stood just out of reach for a minute, letting one hand drift out for the dog to smell.

The woman who ran the shelter watched, and smiled when Maurice leaned forward to sniff hesitantly at the proffered hand, his tail thumping almost hesitantly against the grass.

“Hey, boy,” Steve murmured, sinking down to his knees and stroking the silky soft ears. “You wanna come home with me, maybe?”

It was love at first sight, really. Two damaged souls that found kinship in one another, and when Steve signed the paperwork, paid the fee (with a very generous donation slipped into the stack of papers), and slipped on a new royal blue collar attached to a red leash (Steve couldn’t help that his favorite colors aligned with his alter ego so well), something in his chest felt… settled. For the first time in a long time. He left the shelter with a handful of paperwork, a dog, and a slightly lighter heart.

The Tower was all ready for the dog’s arrival, and Steve had been very thorough about seeing to all the wants and needs a furry companion could possibly have. A few nice, but not needlessly lavish, dog beds were arranged in Steve’s suite and in a couple other places he frequented like the gym and the kitchen and living room area that he and the other Avengers gravitated to when they were in residence. Sets of stainless steel food and water dishes in easy to access places. An assortment of toys that ran the gamut from simple tennis ball to complicated puzzle toys that held treats in hidden compartments for the dog to search out and find. A chest halter, and a lead to attach to Maurice’s collar, to work on training the dog to walk with Steve without a leash, and without pulling while on a leash. Puppy pads in discreet, ventilated places. 

And on Steve’s nightstand, a shiny metal tag to attach to Maurice’s collar alongside the rabies and license tags. It featured his name, Steve’s name and address, and a sticky note from Tony including instructions to activate the GPS and camera imbedded in the tag and how to use his phone to track it. Also a suggestion to go check out the new balcony a few floors down, as it might “be useful”.

Steve had a suspicion about what awaited him on the new balcony he had noticed being constructed, and he was proven correct when he got there a few minutes later with Maurice, new tag jangling on his new collar. The fairly sizeable area, about a quarter of an acre, had been made over like a tiny park, complete with small trees, sod, a couple benches, and even a little water feature that gurgled from a small stream into a shallow pool. There was a wall around it to block the wind, but as it was on the south side of the building, it would receive sunshine for most of the day. And only the lower half of the wall was concrete, the top half was some kind of glass or composite that assured a great view.

Maurice’s tail wagged as he wandered around the space, sniffing at the new grass, lapping at the water, and leaving a present for Steve to clean up and dispose of in the far-too-attractive garbage can near the door to the Tower. It, of course, had a compartment inside containing everything one would need to take care of such presents, because of course Tony Stark couldn’t help but make even a poop trashcan the fanciest poop trashcan to be had.

Steve stood there, the brand new sod under his feet, a light breeze ruffling his hair, and a sizable lump in his throat as he looked around at the specially constructed area. 

So many things still felt wrong in his life. He still woke up sometimes, after horrible and confusing dreams, and was surprised to find himself in a stranger’s body that was heavy with muscle, not fragile with weakness. He had a firm grasp on how the world had changed, but still longed for simpler days, days without cell phones and TVs and AI’s that spoke quietly from within the walls. Steve was not happy. He was okay. But not happy.

But, right at this particular moment, surrounded by the proof that he had people around him that _cared_ about him, and watching his new dog digging a hole in the newly placed grass, Steve Rogers felt for the first time since coming out of the ice that he might just, maybe… learn to be more than okay. And maybe, someday, he’d be able to be happy again.

At his freshly dug hole, Maurice stuck his nose straight into the black dirt underneath, and promptly sneezed, his blond fur jumping and waving. Wagging his tail, he stuck his nose in the dirt again, snuffling around, blowing tiny puffs of earth into the air. Steve walked over to the dog, a smile on his face, and settled himself on one of the wrought-iron benches to watch. Noticing a flat package leaning against the bench that he hadn’t seen before, he picked it up and saw his name written on it in Pepper’s handwriting, and ripped the paper off. 

A pad of sketching paper and a package of drawing pencils was inside. And a note from Pepper that said, “Happy sketching”.

Swallowing back the lump that was apparently still lurking high in his throat, Steve blinked rapidly a few times, then pulled a pencil out of the box. Glancing over at Maurice, who was still happily expanding his hole in the ground, Steve put pencil to paper and began to sketch.


End file.
